


Beneath the surface

by thekarmapolice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekarmapolice/pseuds/thekarmapolice
Summary: "She had broken him. Over and over again. And he had let her." An intimate confession, a collection of bittersweet memories. A Dramione story.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Beneath the surface, there's something he was loath to confess.

Unspoken words, uncomfortable truths, and disjointed memories. Vulnerable longing and desires, lies and constant denials that barely kept him sane. Hurt.

Sometimes it hurt so bad he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Reality hit him in the guts, knocked him over, and a part of him curled in on itself and broke. A part of him remembered and wallowed in regret down dark, abandoned halls. Yet another didn't dare move for fear the illusion it was so carefully crafting would disappear from his mind in favour of what had really transpired-

She had broken him.

Over and over again.

And he had let her.

He had sought it. May the Gods damn him, he had craved for it, just so she would look his way.

_Just look at me._

Over the surface, he pretended to be blind, and everything that lay beneath was kept in a padlocked box of blood red velvet he so rarely opened these days. He was so convincing in his act, his lies so plausible- but no more.

He had seen it mirrored in the eyes of his ageing beautiful mother and in the vacuous gaze of his father, kept discerning it in the devoted look of his friends and colleagues, his deception working, almost coaxing him into taking it as the truth. Almost.

But deep down, beneath it all, he knew it would never happen, him giving in to the solace of his own lies. It would be an insult not to his pain but to the torture he had put  _her_  through.

At first, he hadn't known better. At first, he had been starved for attention of any kind.

A spoiled brat. If he could, he would go back and smack him upside the head, knock some sense into him- maybe throw in a warning, don't be a prat, Draco, you'll regret it.

He knew he did.

Sighing, Draco contemplated the old photograph laid on the table, a corner trapped under a rocks glass, empty if not for a drop of amber liquid. The dim light of the lamp on the desk filtered through the crystal and projected glowing geometric shapes on the picture-  _dispersion_ , a familiar voice whispered in his ears.

Draco smiled weakly, slowly rotating the glass. The two people dancing in the photograph seemed to move in a rainbow of colours, glowing lights swirling around them.

Closing his eyes, he searched for it- the padlocked box.

This was one of those nights, after all.

So he opened it.

.

* * *

.

"I'm Malfoy," Draco said.

He was riding the train to Hogwarts for the first time; only five minutes in, the time to drop his luggage and comb his hair, and he was already walking down the corridor, peering in each compartment, hunting for people to befriend, for people he could introduce himself to, just like a good pure-blood boy.

" _Draco_  Malfoy."

He saw her then. Out of the corner of his eye, a small girl stopped two compartments away.

He knew she had heard him, noticed the emphasis on his name, because she didn't try to move, her body angled in his direction. In a moment of panic he feared she understood- that speaking his uncle's name wasn't a way to detach himself from his family, but the opposite... say the name, you're part of this empire, they'll respect you as a member of high society, Mother had taught him. And he was afraid this little girl knew now because she remained there, an indistinct shadow just one breath out of his line of sight-

He turned.

It's as if time had accelerated for everyone but him.

Students kept passing by, jostling down the train, chasing an empty food trolley, unaware, and she was there, leaning against the window in the corridor, three massive books hugged to her chest, a Charmed frog squeezed by the neck in her hand. His eyes flickered between her hair and her new tailored uniform.

He wheeled round and finished his one-sided conversation with Flint. He kept feeling her gaze fixed on the back of his head the entire bloody time. It was unnerving.

When Flint finally slammed the door of his compartment in Draco's face, the boy turned to go find his next victim- and she was still there, grinning.

She hadn't even introduced herself that the girl was already shaking his hand and talking a mile a minute, her bushy hair bouncing with her excitement.

"You have a very peculiar name, I like it, Draco, as in the constellation, right? Did you know you can always see it from our hemisphere? I saw it  _clearly_  this summer when I went camping with my mum and dad- Did you know that Hogwarts has an Enchanted ceiling? It's in the Great Hall! It's fake, but imagine, you'll see the sky at night  _in_  the castle! I know because I  _read_  about it, it's in  _Hogwarts: A History_!"

When she had finished, he was gaping at her, his nose wrinkled- he wondered how she wasn't out of breath after her monologue.

She was looking up at him- up because, even though he was rather small for his age, she was smaller, delicate-

"What's  _wrong_  with your teeth?"

Her grin slowly sagged.

Draco sneered, "Are they  _real_  or was it an  _Engorgio_  Charm?"

She flinched. He didn't linger to see the disappointment take over her face. He spun on his heel and stepped right past her.

He heard it, the unmistakable sound of a strangled sob. The rest was blocked out by the thundering of his heart as he walked away.

.

* * *

.

She made it into Gryffindor. She was sitting with Harry bloody Potter and the Weasley brat. She laughed, she read a book, she looked up at the High Table every five minutes, up to the ceiling every two, always that contained grin on her face. Never once she looked Draco's way.

And in all his excitement and confusion for finally eating at the table where his parents had sat, he didn't even realise that his gaze was more on her than his plate.

And then he forgot about her.

* * *

At least until their first flying lesson.

It was a warm morning in Scotland. The pale sun was high in the sky and the damp grass smelled of the rain fallen the night before.

It was a Slytherin and Gryffindor lesson- again.

His eyes sweeping over the excited faces of his classmates, Draco thought that whoever had made the schedule had either drunk too much elf-wine or wanted to make sure both Houses lost a fair amount of points every day.

The sight of her trying to call her broom and mount it was pathetic.

Beside her, Potter was showing off his  _innate_  skills- but Draco was a good flier, a great Seeker, and when Longbottom lost his Remembrall, he seized the opportunity.

He challenged Potter. His chance to prove himself in front of everyone.

He didn't want to impress  _her_. The thought never brushed his mind while trying his best to remain in the saddle of his old broom, high in the air, a dangerous plunge into the void between him and the ground.

But when at last his feet touched the grass minutes later, she was running ahead with the rest of the crowd- she, who had been angry because no one was allowed to fly without Madam Hooch there, was now smiling at  _him_.

Draco felt annoyance eclipse the disappointment for losing to Potter, but he ignored it because it was  _nothing_.

It meant  _nothing_  to him.

And he felt pure savage pleasure when McGonagall walked briskly out of the castle, shouting Harry Potter's name and not his.

Draco looked back at her.

He frowned.

She was still smiling.

.

* * *

.

On the 23rd of December, students were gathered in the Entrance Hall, waiting to take the carriages lined on the frozen lake to get to Hogsmeade station and from there take the train to London.

Draco's luggage had already disappeared, taken care of by his personal house-elf, and now the boy was waiting at the rear of a group of students to leave the castle for the holidays.

Tugging on his black gloves, Draco smiled up at the sky framed by the wooden double doors of the hall. It was his first smile after weeks of boring lessons, mostly at the thought of sleeping in his own bed tonight- his four-poster, Sun King bed – but also at the promise of some quiet at last. Books. Chocolate. The company of his dogs. His broom for an hour in the winter night... without his mother knowing, of course.

" _Mr Malfoy_!"

At the sound of his voice, Draco shrugged his shoulders in displeasure. Dragging in a heavy breath, he spun around and came face to chest with his godfather.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked politely, looking up at the sullen man who was staring at him in return with narrowed eyes.

"Your essay on Monkshood and Wolfbane was  _not_  on my desk this morning," the man snapped irritably. "I gave you the whole weekend, Malfoy."

Draco spluttered, "B-but it's the ho-"

"No buts. No favouritism from me, Malfoy. If I don't find your essay in my office within the next hour, I'll take ten points from Slytherin."

"I can't miss the train-"

"Then I suggest you run, Mr Malfoy."

Keeping himself from baring his teeth, Draco stalked past Snape and crossed the hall to race down the stairs for the Dungeons.

He  _had_  finished that essay, he just hadn't realised he  _couldn't_ be excused from turning it on time. He was a Malfoy, for Salazar's sake, but what good did it do if he couldn't even use his name to turn in assignments a bit later?

Cursing Severus Snape in his head, Draco pushed his way through the Slytherins leaving the common room and finally reached his destination. Fortunately, he knew where the scroll of parchment had been left and, in fact, there it was, in the first drawer of his bedside table.

Homework collected, Draco quickly headed off towards Snape's office, a string of expletives he had picked up from his cousin Nymphadora still uttered in his head.

Speaking of Dora...

"Going home, little Drake?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but he ignored the girl calling him, turned a corner, and from there took a secret passage  _she_  had shown him.

When he hurried out of the Potions classroom five minutes later, the seventh-year girl was still there, chatting to some friends.

Head hung low, Draco pretended not to see her.

"Drakee-o," Dora yelled after him, "slow down!"

Draco quickened his pace, still not looking back. Ahead was a point of light, the end of the corridor. He was almost there-

"Effin' slow down, Draco!" Much to his displeasure, the girl was now jogging beside him, a big grin on her face. "Didn't hear me?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," Draco muttered, his eyes fixed in front of him.

"Feckin' brilliant!" The girl didn't sound the least upset. "So we can meet in secret or something!"

Draco wrinkled his nose. He reluctantly glanced at her, but only for a moment. Nymphadora was wearing her hair short and bubble gum pink, again. Pierced in her ears were several colourful earrings and at her wrists a dozen bracelets that clinked with every step.

Clenching his fists, Draco hissed at the floor, "I can't talk to you."

"Can't or won't?"

This time his eyes found hers entirely on their own. She was looking down at him, her smile now bitter.

"We had so much fun when you arrived, pulling pranks on Filch- who, by the way, got stuck under the mistletoe in the Entrance Hall earlier, it was hilarious!" She beamed, her eyes staring out into the memory of the old Squib waiting for a kiss. Then the smile died on her lips and she furrowed her eyebrows, "But you started ignoring me. Why?"

"You know why," Draco seethed, finally stopping a few feet away from the door giving on the hall.

"I know why," she sighed, coming to stand in front of him. She folded her arms. "But this is my last year, Draco. This is my only chance to get to know you, because later..."

Dora trailed off, searching his face. Not finding what she had been looking for, she heaved another sigh and bent slightly forwards to look at him right in the eye.

"Don't let  _them_  follow you inside the school as well," she told him, shaking her head. "Please. This- stuff, it doesn't matter at Hogwarts."

"Said to a Slytherin," Draco mumbled, turning away.

"I mean it, Draco. You're my little cousin, you matter. I don't want to see you hurt or-"

 _Or become like them_ , the boy finished for her.

* * *

After giving Draco a peck on the cheek, which he had hastily wiped off with the back of his gloved hand, Nymphadora Tonks had walked out of the castle following her loud friends.

Thanks to his cousin he was now in a bad mood.

He was angry.

He hated everyone.

He hated himself for having written that stupid letter. He should have never asked his mother about this new mysterious cousin he had met the first day at Hogwarts. No, he should have kept the revelation to himself, so now he could- what, exactly?

Lie to himself every time his cousin was near, ignoring the fact that she wasn't of pure blood?

 _Andromeda Tonks is not my sister, therefore you have no cousin_ , Narcissa Malfoy had written in a short letter one day after receiving Draco's.  _Don't you ever mention their names again._

He hadn't asked why- why his mother didn't want him to know about his aunt and cousin. He was smart, he had figured it out soon enough.

One a traitor, the other a-

Draco shook his head. He couldn't make himself say, or think, the word. He knew his cousin, and she was not-

" _Filth,_ they _are filth_ ," the voice of his father reminded him.

And his father always spoke the truth.

* * *

 _She_  was descending the stairs, carrying her luggage like a Muggle. Today she had arranged her hair in a simple plait, although riotous curls still escaped and framed her face.

She was grunting, pausing every four steps to take a breath.

Blowing her curls out of her eyes, the girl looked up and caught him standing behind the crowd of students positioned at the entrance.

He sneered.

She put her luggage down on the step, raised her head haughtily, and drew her wand from an inside pocket of her coat.

" _ _Wingardium Leviosa.__ "

The fact that she was using the Levitation Charm not so much for her own good but to show off unnerved him. She really was stupid.

And if she was thinking he was shocked- he noticed the smug look she was so blatantly trying to keep off her face- she was dead wrong.

While students crossed the hall between them, he narrowed his eyes and dared her to look away as he pulled his wand.

He gave a little wave, his lips curling upwards, and a second later something cold and scaly began to slither around his wrist; he didn't need to look down to know that a small garden snake was wrapped around his hand.

The bushy head widened her eyes. Draco let the snake slide over his arm a moment more before Vanishing it.

Now,  _that_  was a nice piece of magic, he thought with a smirk.

But when the girl bent to lift her things, Draco felt fury boiling in his stomach. He had just performed wondrous magic, and for her!

Lifting his gaze, he bit his lip to keep a frustrated growl- and then his eyes found it.

He grinned.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, he looked back at the students waiting by the entrance and at Professor McGonagall, who was monitoring the hall. Clear.

A grin plastered on his face, he sauntered towards the stairs and waited by a column. When she reached him, too busy resting her luggage down to notice his presence, Draco resumed his strolling. He walked to her.

Right into her.

"Whaa-"

Surprised, the girl yelped as Draco bumped into her shoulder, hard. She wobbled, her arms flapping to regain her footing- only to crash into something invisible that kept her upright.

Draco burst out laughing.

Aware of the sudden noise, half of the school turned to look at him, and then at the girl trapped under a bunch of mistletoe.

The hall erupted in laughter. Draco was hugging his sides for the bushy head kept trying to disentangle herself from the invisible arms restraining her, but her legs were rooted to the floor. She looked like a mad scarecrow.

Straightening his spine but still clutching his stomach, Draco saw Pansy and Daphne giggling and pointing at the plant merrily growing over the little Gryffindor's head. He swore that even McGonagall had allowed herself a hint of a smile before blinking and pursing her lips- oh oh, that the professor was now looking right at him meant nothing good. Repressing a shudder, Draco looked back at his victim.

"Merry Christmas," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

She didn't respond.

So he turned and walked away, the image of her red face streaked with tears following him out of the castle.

.

* * *

.

Hatred. Disgust. For the people she surrounded herself with, for her irritating personality, her shrilly voice, and for what she was.

Oh, he knew what she was. They had explained it to him more than once, warned him against ever touching or even talking to  _them_ \- animals, that's what they were.

He believed it.

But he was only a boy and it wasn't his fault.

"Why?" he asked.

The portrait of his grandfather scoffed under his breath, a pair of glacial eyes staring down his aquiline nose at him. He tried not to squirm under his authoritative gaze.

"Why question the matter, or  _me_ , Draco?" he said with a contemptuous smile. "You're a Malfoy, you don't  _question_  things, you do what you're told."

"But-"

Abraxas cut him short. "Ask your father if you deem... this matter... questionable."

Draco mentally inhaled. His voice came out smooth, his words reasonable.

"I'm not questioning it." He was. "I want to know what makes them-" 'different' would sound too diplomatic, "disgusting."

The old man cocked an eyebrow but nodded. "They're a mistake. An abomination of nature. They are the mud under the sand- evil and concealed, the moment you touch it, it defiles us with its filth.

They may look innocent and... attractive, but their seduction is poison for we are wizards and they are animals of puny minds. They weaken us. Our blood was never meant to mix."

"Never? Never in our family- how is it possible?" The questions pushed past Draco's lips before he could restrain himself.

His grandfather shot him a look of great indignation.

"Never!" His voice trembled with outrage. "Now stop mentioning them unless you want to be called a traitor!"

After a last glare in his direction, Abraxas Malfoy stepped out of his tall frame at once and Draco was left on his own, in the cold and dark study of his father.

The boy looked out the window- it had started to snow copiously. Snowflakes drifted in circles before touching the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

He thought that if...  _they_  were an abomination of nature, then nature had a strange way of creating its mistakes. Were they always so... capable?

It pained him to admit it, but he knew one who was certainly more powerful than him.

Maybe she was a bit different.

Or maybe he was weak.

It was Christmas' Eve and he was spending it alone in his empty house, a blizzard starting to rage outside.

At that moment he decided he hated  _her_  for making him doubt himself.

* * *

What he did after making up his mind, though...

Back at school after the break, he kept to himself and his House. Or tried to. He failed.

The dragon's egg incident came and went. That had been all him and his stupidity, his desire to put Harry Potter in trouble. That she had been involved wasn't his business.

He was above everyone else-

But he still touched her.

On purpose.

Every time he could. Every  _single_  time.

She hated him for it. She would glare at him over her shoulder every time he bumped into her. Sometimes he pretended it was her fault.

"Watch it, beaver," he would sneer.

Other times he smirked at her in return. She cried once... but only once.

"She's ugly," Pansy sneered one morning at breakfast. "Her hair looks like a birds' nest. And her teeth- she should walk around wearing a paper bag on her head."

Sniggering, Draco poured pumpkin juice into his goblet. When he placed the bottle back on the table, he stole a glance at the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall. She was reading a book, her face hidden behind the huge tome- her mane was still visible, clearly, and it seemed to stand up with every page she turned.

"I wouldn't keep insulting her, Parkinson, unless you want to give off the impression you're jealous."

To Draco's utter astonishment, Theodore looked up from his copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  to give Pansy a knowing look.

The girl gasped. "And why would I be jealous, now?"

Theodore shrugged, leaning back on the bench. "She's smart. You're- pardon me- average."

Pansy's cheeks and neck flushed a deep shade of red but she didn't speak again, choosing to ignore Theodore altogether.

It was true that under all that bushy hair, the Gryffindor  _swot_  had a brain. But other than that there was nothing else. Her hair looked hideous, she was small, she was skinny- the fingers gripping the edges of her book were skeletal.

Five minutes later he was bumping into her shoulder again.

"What- Haa!"

Draco smirked maliciously when the girl went sprawling on the floor, her books and parchments following her a second later to fall on her back and scatter all over around.

"Watch it, Mud-"

The words died on his tongue.

Sitting up, the girl looked at him and shot him a glare so fierce he staggered. For a moment his eyes were transfixed on hers and didn't dare move- or travel over her figure, her askew robes, down to her slightly ridden up skirt and a hint of milky legs-

"Watch where you're going next time, stupid girl," Draco spat, kicking her satchel into her side. Then he turned away and briskly walked to Potions.

Only he never managed to get to the classroom because the Potions Master intercepted him as soon as he stepped out of the hallway.

"Mr  _Malfoy_."

Before even hearing his name, Draco felt the professor grasping him by the collar and shoving him down a lateral corridor. His head spinning, Draco moved his mouth to protest and call for help, but when no sound came out he realised in horror that he had been Silenced. Bugger.

Gritting his teeth, Draco let his captor drag him down to the dungeons, or so he assumed that was where they were going judging by the abrupt disappearance of light and the humid air hitting his nostrils.

"What. Were. You. Thinking!"

Severus Snape unceremoniously pushed Draco into a room and closed the door with a flick of his wand.

Panting, Draco leaned against a desk and loosened the tie that had almost strangled him moments ago.

The man whirled on him. "Were you thinking?"

"I don't know what you-" Draco began to say, but the teacher immediately grabbed the collar of his shirt to look at him in the eye.

"That kind of behaviour!" Snape hissed, shaking him. "It's not tolerated in this school! You can't hurt them in the open. If you hate her, use indifference, never violence!"

At last Snape let go of him. The boy braced his hands on the desk behind him to catch himself.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and followed the pacing of his godfather.

When he stopped to rake a hand through his hair, the man seemed to have calmed down. "You can't let someone see how we treat them. You're a Malfoy, Draco. A mistake like that could cost you everything- alliances, respect, position."

Snape sharply swivelled his head back to him. "Don't do that again."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. Then-

"It was an accident. She was walking without-"

"Second lesson," Snape cut him short, "never lie if you don't know how to tell the lie."

Draco wanted to retort that, of course, he knew how to lie, but the man's obsidian gaze stopped him.

What gave him away?

"I read it in your face. And I saw you-  _and_  it's not the first time you've pulled something like that. Never do it again."

Draco tried not to glare at him.

He hated  _her_.

Now he needed another way to show her just how much.

.

* * *

.

His words could be venom, he found out.

Not with the usual insults, but when he put logic behind his words, or what he thought was logic, he obtained the best results.

Telling her why exactly she was unworthy of studying at Hogwarts, or even breathing the same air as him, excited him.

When the worst came out of his mouth, his friends ignored him while Crabbe and Goyle remained at his side, too stupid to say or do anything other than laugh. Good. He wanted all the attention he could get on himself.

Only that she wasn't playing his game any more.

She rarely met his provocations. And if she did, it was because she was never alone, but in the company of her idiotic pair of best friends.

But the evening of the Leaving Feast he saw her walking down the Grand Staircase to dinner by herself. There was no one around, not even the portraits, who had vacated their paintings to go celebrate somewhere secret in the castle- except for the two of them.

 _At last_ , he thought, a smirk already tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Hey!"

She almost missed a step when Draco called her.

Catching herself on the banister, she looked ahead, a scowl set on her face, but when her eyes landed on him, her expression of fear was replaced by one of indignation.

Smiling inwardly, Draco quickly climbed the steps and stopped in front of her.

"All alone, are we?" he jeered, looking around as if trying to spot Potter and Weasley hiding behind the paintings. "What happened to Scarhead and Weasel-Bee?"

"Move, Malfoy," the girl tried to walk past him, but he swiftly stepped in her way. She made to move to his other side and he put himself in front of her again.

After a few more attempts she gave up and looked at him uneasily. She wasn't craning her neck as usual- standing one step above him, she was at his same height.

"Please, move," she said weakly.

Draco smirked. "Why? I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" she snapped, glaring at him. Just the reaction he had been hoping for.

He brought his face close to hers. His voice was a soft purr. "About how you shouldn't talk back to your  _betters_."

He saw the moment she decided to use the old weapon.

No, he didn't want her  _indifference_  today.

He needed her to understand what he thought about her.

"I won't talk to you any more, if that's what you want," the girl said calmly. He tutted.

"It doesn't work like that. As for what I want..." Now their noses were almost touching. "I want you to show me respect."

She primmed her lips, her eyes narrowed in defiance.

"You don't deserve all this," Draco waved a hand at the ceiling. "You're unworthy. Beneath all that insolence and that-  _hair_ , there's a know-it-all who's begging to be noticed and accepted into a world that, you know  _very_  well, you don't belong to. And you try so hard, don't you? It's sickening."

Her pupils were wide, her lips quivering.

"You're an abomination, Granger- you're filth."

With a low growl, Hermione pushed his chest with both hands, but Draco had expected it. He easily shoved her back without losing his balance.

Giving a sharp cry, the girl managed not to fall by crashing against the wall- and then Draco was there, in front of her, pressing his hands on her shoulders, a triumphant sneer on his face.

Hermione thrust her fists into his chest, but he didn't move one inch.

"No Potter or Weasel-Bee to save you now, eh, Granger?" he spat in her ear.

He removed his hand from her shoulder to let it travel to her collarbone, her neck, the soft skin fragile under his fingers. He touched that spot where her lifeblood thrummed. He could feel her heart racing, fast, but not faster than his own-

He was touching her.

As soon as he took notice of where his hands were and whose chest was actually crushed against his own, Draco pushed himself off her.

"You're nothing, Granger," he hissed, taking a step back.

She took a deep, broken breath, her brown eyes sparkling with tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall.

Sealing his lips into a tight line, Draco Malfoy turned round, shot a last hateful glance at Hermione Granger, and walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Ha, wow. My first Dramione. I started writing this story and just couldn't stop. I mean, I already have all the chapters finished, now I just need to edit them a bit- yeah, regular updates for this story (and I can hear Dark Games protesting, I'm sure you can too if you're following my other work.)
> 
> The chapters? 14! Because I love 7 as a number, but I also love symmetry- you'll see :D
> 
> Draco Malfoy. Honestly, I was scared because he's such a complex character and I adore him, but my brain started developing this story and I just couldn't let it go. And yes, I know I'm writing in male POV again, but I swear the story I'm currently working on (Tomione) is told from a female POV. But I like my comfort zone, so I won't stray too far.
> 
> So, what do you think? Don't hesitate to let me know in a review! :D
> 
> Thank you and peace out!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: implied violence towards the end of the chapter.

 

It was a warm and bright day in Diagon Alley and the rays of the high sun shone brightly on the busy streets. Draco had never felt this kind of freedom in ages- well, not that long, but three months spent in the shadows of his manor did feel like a little eternity.

While his mother had spent the holidays in Greece and his father only Salazar knew where, the Malfoy heir had been left behind at home, with the promise of a new broom and sweets- it had been Lucius' final decision.

"Stop treating him like a child, Cissa," Draco had heard his father tell his wife one night. The boy had been listening from the corridor outside the dining room- he hadn't been  _eavesdropping_ , he had only happened to hear his parents talking while passing. "Keep on hiding him behind your skirts and he'll grow as weak as a little girl."

"Since when girls are weak, exactly?" Narcissa had questioned. That had made his father laugh.

"Pardon, I spoke without thinking," he had conceded. Draco hadn't liked his change of tone. The rest of the conversation, or lack thereof, had been missed for Draco had smoothly walked away, his nose scrunched in disgust.

Lucius Malfoy could look like a block of ice to the rest of the world, his son included, but Narcissa Black had always been his weakness. Unfortunate that she hadn't been able to change his father's mind about Draco's holidays the way she always managed to render him an imbecile with the right inflection to her voice.

That's how Draco had remained within Malfoy grounds the whole summer except for a few visits to his friends' homes and the occasional Quidditch match. It had been incredibly lonely, wandering around his own house followed by the curious gazes of the house-elves, but he knew that if Lucius hadn't been otherwise occupied with his new work, he would have spent more time with him.

But no more loneliness, Draco thought, walking down the street of Diagon Alley behind the imposing figure of his father.

No, back to Hogwarts he was surely going to miss the quiet of his home. Back to Hogwarts meant noise, classes, more noise, people-

Draco caught a flash of raven hair and a stained cloak.

Hogwarts meant  _him_. Harry bloody Potter.

The boy who lived.

Even Lucius had barely tolerated the way Draco unabashedly despised Dumbledore's Golden Boy. The young Slytherin knew it was irritating, hearing him complain that Potter had the best broom or that everyone seemed to love him, even the Snakes at times, but he couldn't control it- it wasn't jealousy. Draco Malfoy wasn't jealous of a half-blood.

It was... natural loathing. The reason was beyond his comprehension, but who cared? Harry Potter, innocent Harry blo-

" _Oh!_ "

Before he could avoid it, Draco's head collided with a wall. Hard. So hard the wall staggered back.

"Are you okay, dear?"

Wheezing, the confused boy took a swift look around and realised he had just stepped into a packed bookshop- then he blinked up at a woman.

No wonder the wall had felt so soft, he thought, nodding numbly at her. He suddenly felt warm around his neck.

The woman standing before him was searching his face for symptoms of discomfort, her lips curled upwards into an oddly familiar smile.

She appeared to be in her late forties, but while delicate lines adorned her features, especially at the corners of her eyes and her mouth, she still looked beautiful. Her skin was golden and the light spray of freckles running across her cheeks and nose somehow made her look more friendly. Her eyes were brown and warm, framed by long eyelashes, dark blonde as her hair arranged in a simple knot.

But what struck him as different was her attire: she was wearing practical clothes, a pair of grey jeans and a camisole- a Muggle.

"You sure you're okay?" the woman asked gently again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Draco jerked his head in a nod, taking a step back. The woman's hand fell to her side but her kind smile remained on her lips. Her smile, he felt like he knew it...

It happened in an instant. His eyes slid past the woman and settled on a girl standing next to a tall man, both looking up in wonder at a shelf piled to the ceiling with old tomes.

Looking back at the woman, Draco felt stupid for not having noticed it sooner. Their eyes were identical, the same shade of warm chocolate brown.

And then he felt annoyance rising in his chest for reasons he just couldn't admit to himself. Lowering his head and muttering an "excuse me", he pushed past Mrs Granger to step out of the crowd. He climbed the stairs to the first floor of the shop and, behind a bookcase, he finally exhaled.

He wasn't reliving the recent incident, merely straightening his robes and scanning Flourish and Blotts for a sign of Lucius, but the unwanted voice of his grandfather still resonated in his ears-  _They may look innocent and... attractive, but their seduction is poison for we are wizards and they are animals of puny minds._

Sighing, Draco pushed off the bookcase and went to lean over the banister. She was there, talking excitedly to her parents, an open book in her hands. Predictable.

Hermione Granger had her father's hair, curly and dark, and her mother's golden skin. And her disgustingly kind smile.

* * *

The air in the crowded shop was starting to become heavy with all this sighing and wooing. Behind the counter, a golden-haired man stood and grinned at the females, angling his head and making his cloak dramatically whirl every time he turned and assumed yet another pose for the potential  _Witch Weekly_ 's cover.

Draco couldn't help but notice that even Granger wasn't immune to Gilderoy Lockart's spell. No, standing between her parents and the Weasley clan, she was clapping loudly, gazing dreamingly at the man who was going to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year. Salazar save them all.

Draco remained on the first floor, half-heartedly assisting the pathetic event unfolding under his nose. When his father reappeared from a side door, he thanked the Founders and made to walk down the stairs only to hesitate halfway. Potter, Granger and the Weasleys were pushing their way through the herd of shoppers for the door... well, well. Talk about timing.

Unaware of their surroundings, Draco plastered a smirk on his face and calmly walked towards them.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?"

Displeasure flickered in the other boy's eyes when he turned his head in Draco's direction.

The blond sneered and went on, "Famous Harry Potter. Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

The way the little Weasley girl came to Potter's rescue impressed him, but what made his insides clench uncomfortably was the look on Granger's face. At least her mother was still in the heart of the crowd, conversing with other parents- he could be rude to his peers, but never to adults, lest he wanted for generations of well-mannered Malfoys to be ashamed of him.

He hadn't been thinking. Insulting the Weasleys here, in the open- his father was by his side in the blink of an eye.

"Well, well, well- Arthur Weasley."

Lucius' voice was a cube of iced hostility, his insults served on a silver tray like only a good pure-blood man knows how to. What happened next though...

Draco felt his skin drain of colour when Mr Weasley lunged for Lucius' throat.

He had never seen his father engaged in a brawl before, never seen him raise his fists to hit someone- with his wand, yes, but never his hands.

Shrieks and insults flew and in a matter of seconds all the shop's occupants were assisting the spectacle, few calling for help, most cheering loudly. The Grangers were instantly behind Hermione, trying to shield her from the books and heavy objects falling from the knocked bookshelves while their wide, scared eyes remained fixed on the two men fighting in the spotlight.

Although a part of Draco felt proud seeing his father land a good punch, another was taken aback: Lucius Malfoy had never looked more furious.

The Weasleys and the Malfoys were enemies, that much Draco knew, but loathing wasn't the only sentiment in his father's glower. There was also murder.

When Hagrid finally forced the enraged men apart, Draco almost sighed in relief. His attention was torn between the door and the exchange of final words; Harry Potter was also glancing at the shop's entrance, while Granger, she... was looking at him.

The girl was giving him an odd look, her head cocked to the side. Draco didn't like the way she was contemplating him, as if solving who knew what riddle she could read in his face. He definitely didn't like the way she squinted at him with something akin to pity in her eyes- he knew this was the moment she had decided he was to be pitied because of his unstable family and lonely childhood.

He wanted to shout it, to her and everyone, he needed no compassion, it was all appearance, he was normal, she was the sad one, Granger, you are the poor lamb for the slaughter, don't you see? We're all wizards here and you're unimportant, expendable-

She gave him a secret smile.

Half hidden behind Mrs Weasley, Hermione tilted the corners of her lips imperceptibly- Draco scowled and turned away to follow his father out of the bookshop.

.

* * *

.

The first term started with warm mornings and afternoons mostly spent outside and cool evenings up in the Astronomy Tower. He liked these last lessons. Night time was when Draco could freely look at the sky with the eyes of a boy, in shadow from people- just free to  _be_. And in the sky were his dreams, his imagination, even his name.

But if his dreams and imagination often spoke of cruelty, as everyone knew did his name, it wasn't his fault.

Draco removed his gaze from her in favour of the stars and imagined a world of only wizards, a perfect world where he could live on without having to breathe the same air as hers. The annoying witch.

"Ron, wake up!" Draco heard Granger bang a book on Weasley's head.

Annoying, infuriating little witch. Draco focused on the telescope in front of his nose and blindly wrote names and positions of planets. Luckily he knew what he was doing- he was half Black after all.

"That's good, Mr Malfoy," Professor Sinistra commented, nodding in approval at Draco's neat notes and sketches. "Oh, and you also named all the stars and objects of your constellation and Lyra's. I shouldn't be surprised. Ten points to Slytherin."

Draco quietly thanked the professor but didn't immediately go back to the telescope. He had heard Potter snorting in his direction.

Draco was a good student, but that didn't mean he often received points for his achievements, not in the shadow of Hermione Granger. Potter really was an idiot if he thought Draco was awarded points because of his family when in truth no one favoured him- not even Snape, contrary to popular belief.

Draco caught Potter staring. He narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor and then slanted his face away, but not before noticing Granger following her friend's gaze to  _him_. She had frowned, biting her lip.

Grey wispy clouds started to descend over the castle, streaking the dark blue sky, and the air turned cold and wet.

"Ten more minutes," Professor Sinistra announced, moving quietly around the tower.

Blinking back sleep, Draco shifted on his cushion to rouse his numb limbs. Shrugging his shoulders, he inconspicuously looked at his classmates, who were hastily scribbling their last notes, all except himself. And her.

Their eyes locked. Neither looked immediately away.

He didn't know why or what exactly he was doing, but his gaze moved on its own volition, from her tired face to her frizzy hair, back to her face, then down to her neck, her loose tie and wrinkled white shirt, and finally to her small hands resting in her lap. Even in the dark it was clear that the tips of her fingers were stained with ink- and trembling. She was shivering, and yet she was sitting on her cloak. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Granger shook herself from her stupor and, her unblinking stare firm on the floor, she stood and pulled the overgarment around her shoulders.

Minutes later, on his way out of the tower, Draco brushed her shoulder.

But this time he didn't bump into her.

.

* * *

.

Something was happening. There was a sense of dreary anticipation in the air, an unnerving, continuous tick-tock of the clock till midnight. The whole school seemed to perceive the tension.

That it had been raining for days without one single ray of sun piercing its way through the thick clouds didn't help.

And Draco was in a bad mood. Not for the weather- no, he really didn't care- but for Lucius' sudden need to send him letters every week when it had always been his mother writing him. Draco would have swapped his father's ominous warnings for Narcissa's apprehensive questions any day now.

_Don't leave the dormitory at night... Don't go wandering about the castle... If your grades don't pick up soon... You are only second, behind a Mudblood, Draco... If my fathers knew, the shame... Draco, don't wander in the dungeons, go straight back to your dorms after classes... Don't attract too much attention... Keep your head down._

Yes, there was no doubt that Draco preferred his mother's apprehension.

_Keep your head down._

Lucius had repeated this again and again, in written and oral form. What did the man think, that Draco loved attracting trouble like, say, Potter?

"Nice handwriting."

Draco lifted his head. Pansy was glancing at the parchment outspread on the table, the tidy and consistent slant of his father's calligraphy catching the attention of the young witch- and accusing Draco, of what he still didn't know.

The boy rolled his eyes. He knew that his friend had a crush on Lucius. Ugh.

"He can't really stand her, can he?" Pansy asked, arching an eyebrow. Draco looked at the word she was tapping with a finger.  _Mudblood_.

"He can't stand the fact that my grades aren't as good as hers," Draco said bitterly, his eyes fixed on the word he had never pronounced.

Pansy sneered. She didn't look pretty when she did it.

"I bet she isn't that bright. She's a  _Muggle_ ," venom dripping from the last word, she emphasized it with a fake shudder, "that's why the teachers believe she's special or something."

Draco nodded absently.

"And, please, why would Lockhart even look at her? She's ugly."

Draco made to nod again, but after a second he caught up with what Pansy had said. He didn't waste time looking for her, her bushy mane was easy to spot even in the colourful mass of students sitting in the Great Hall: she was looking up at that fool of Lockhart in  _awe_  as the man distributed signed photographs, her fingers resting on the table twitching as if she could barely restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck or touching that golden hair of his. The sight was so sickening Draco had to swallow to keep his breakfast down. Banishing the picture of her by shaking his head, he pushed back his plate of untouched sausage and knocked back the last of his tea.

"See you later," he muttered to no one in particular, sliding off the bench.

"Good luck with the trials!" Pansy said airily after him. He answered with an inward shiver and a tiny smirk shot at her over his shoulder before joining the students filing out of the hall.

.

* * *

.

He made it. He actually made it.

Two days after the tryouts, Draco was ambling down the corridors with a smug air around him, sneering at everyone, wearing his new title of Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team with pride. He shoved the news in the faces of the Gryffindors every time he could.

And he hadn't even lifted a finger to earn it! Flint had merely shooed the trembling kids trying out for the seeker position and shaken Draco's hand after letting him have one quick flight around the pitch- and that had been it.

What a pleasant surprise it had been, finding his father waiting by the locker rooms, the ghost of a smirk similar to Draco's twitching his lips. Draco knew Flint had nearly fainted at the sight of the team's new brooms, but the older boy had managed to act cool in front of Draco to give nothing away.

And now... now half of the school hated Draco Malfoy.

Oliver Wood was one of that half and he just happened to be flying in his direction at the moment, followed by the rest of his team. Well, actually it was the Slytherin team that was stepping onto the pitch while Wood was descending to confront Flint for interrupting their precious practice time.

Draco and his teammates shared a grin when Wood dismounted his broom and almost fell over in his anger.

Watching Wood and Flint's bickering amused Draco, the sight awarding him a sense of personal victory; the Slytherins surely enjoyed the way the whole Gryffindor team appeared to both wrinkle their nose and flush with envy at the Nimbus 2001 brooms donated by Lucius Malfoy.

One moment it was just the two rival teams, the next they were surrounded and she was there. Looking down at them all with disdain, her eyes softening on Weasley and Potter, hardening on him and Flint.

Granger was everywhere, carrying herself like a rich, worthy girl, when in reality she was just a-

He was better, he had told her so last year. He was worthy. He spoke and his new teammates regarded him with respect, laughed at his jokes.

Draco was good. Better than Weasley, who was drooling over the Slytherins' brooms, better than Potter, who was openly looking daggers at Flint. He was simply different on a much higher level.

He humiliated the Gryffindors, mocked their old broomsticks. These people were the jokes.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Her words felt like a slap in the face, but before Draco could take in the truth of them and feel shame, hate rippled through him.

He glared at Granger.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

He spoke it for the first time. His insides clenched uncomfortably.

He tuned out everything, the Weasley twins lunging for his throat, the chaos taking place around him. He remained still, absorbing the meaning and consequences of what he had just said, the sound of the word coming from his mouth so similar to his father's deprecating voice. He remained still.

At least until a jet of green light flashed in the air and a retching sound followed.

The sight of Ronald Weasley vomiting slugs had certainly broken the spell.

.

* * *

.

They made sense now, the warnings.

Lucius had known about- whatever was happening in the castle. He was in part cause of it, most likely.

Something about a chamber and a monster. One order. To kill Muggle-borns.

She didn't look scared. He had heard her talking while passing in the corridor on their way to Potions, she wanted to solve the mystery. He had heard his name in her hushed conversation with Potter and Weasley, even.

Draco didn't know what to feel about her. He hated her, she disgusted him. If at least she would cease being a stuck-up, pretentious b- _witch_ , he wouldn't have to show her how much he could detest her kind in provocations. In the end, it was her fault.

The morning of the first match of the season, she was wearing a scarf in Gryffindor colours. On her way out of the Great Hall, he brushed her shoulder, again.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood."

It didn't feel particularly good, calling her a Mudblood, but it was right. Appropriate.

When Draco had come out of the locker rooms, his father was standing at the edge of the pitch, conversing with Snape. Both men were staring up at the stands.

"The boy keeps Muggles as best friends," Lucius was saying- there was no need to linger on the tone he used, his very aura gave away disgust and contempt. Draco followed his gaze: sitting behind Dumbledore and a grinning Professor McGonagall, Weasley and Granger were clapping and cheering as the Gryffindor team walked towards Madam Hooch. "The Granger girl... let's hope nothing too bad happens to her."

Draco didn't have time to ponder the meaning of his words. Shouldering his broom, the young Seeker joined his team and prepared for his first Quidditch match against Gryffindor.

Five minutes later, or so it had seemed to him, Draco was in the infirmary.

"You are a  _failure_ ," Lucius hissed, tightening his grip on his walking stick. Draco was glad his father had had the forethought of drawing the curtains around the bed and placing an enchantment to grant them privacy. "You  _didn't_  want to win today, you just had to let your rivalry get in the way when you were one bloody inch from that stupid Snitch."

Draco flinched when the man rapped his walking stick hard on the floor.

"I donated three thousand galleons in brooms to the school to put you on the team, and you waste an opportunity for what-  _what_ , Draco?"

Draco swallowed and closed his eyes. He stuttered, "I'm s-sorry, Father."

When the boy found the courage to open his eyes again, his father was sneering down at him.

"Don't expect sweets or anything else you might need from home for at least three months, boy," Lucius said crisply. "And you'll stay here for the holidays. I need you to... inform me if anything odd happens. Anything."

Gaze trained on the candid sheets of his bed, Draco nodded once. Then his father was gone.

.

* * *

.

In the heart of the night, all was asleep and the silence seemed to hover over the castle like a spell, making even the most abrupt sounds fade out. But untouched by Morpheus' magic, Draco lay on the settee, his cheek glued to the glass of the window, the sounds in his head keeping him wide awake. Not even an eyelid drooping or a yawn.

Noise. So much noise. It was so loud that for a moment he feared Theodore would wake up from his snoring, but of course none of his dormmates stirred. Blaise was lying so still he looked like a corpse. On the other side of the room, Crabbe was sprawled over the covers, opening and closing his mouth and clicking his tongue with wet sounds.

Shifting in his cramped sitting position, Draco softly sighed and removed his face from the glass. He blinked at what was beyond.

The depths of the lake looked intimidating, the dark waters treacherous; they promised a very painful death and maybe even worse consequences to foolish wanderers- that's what everyone believed, and to reason because the creatures of the lake weren't very friendly people, but so few knew, or remembered from time to time, that the mass of water protected. The castle. The students.

But the monster was inside these walls and what could merpeople or even the Giant Squid do against something as ancient as Salazar Slytherin?

Draco swallowed. It killed Muggleborns, but what if it ended up hurting others too? He was selfish like that. Didn't care about the Mudbloods at all- or at least he tried.

"I don't care," he murmured to the silence. Then he gritted his teeth and scowled because the words didn't ring true even to his own ears. Embittered, he hurled a cushion to the floor.

"I don't care," he hissed again, putting more conviction in his words.  _There._

"You're pathetic, Malfoy."

She was regarding him with that glint in her eyes, the distaste she usually subtly revealed now openly written across her face.

Perhaps sleep had finally caught up with him. She couldn't possibly be here, in  _his_  dorm, kneeling on  _his_  settee in front of him.

Poised on her knees, she leaned forwards, glaring down at him.

"I hate you, Malfoy."

His family name on her lips felt just wrong. She was unworthy of it, he wanted to strangle her just for speaking it.

"You're pathetic, Draco."

"You're a coward. Egotist. Always looking for approval. Draco."

"You're blind. Draco. Don't have a brain of your own. Like a lapdog. Being ordered around. Draco."

Her warm breath fanned his face.

"You hurt me, you hurt yourself, Draco. You need certainty. Insecure. I'm beneath you, you want to believe it."

"Filth to your doubts. Draco."

"Obsessed, always running after me. Proving yourself through me."

"It's. A. Lie."

"Say my name, Draco."

"Want what you can't have. Draco."

"My name."

She was so close their noses almost touched. So close he had to squint to count the light freckles sprayed on her nose, on her cheeks, at the corners of her mouth. When her teeth remained behind her lips, that mouth, green under the surreal light of the dorm, looked-

"Speak. My. Name. Draco."

His hands were clenched in tight fists. "Hermione."

She smiled, her chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners.

"It's Mudblood to you."

.

* * *

.

He hated her.

She walked around like the bloody queen of the castle, her nose thrust in the air so she wouldn't need to acknowledge him, massive books always in her arms to stress her difference, look at me, I spend hours at the library for extra education because I  _can_.

And  _he_  needed approval. And he was the personification of arrogance.

For Salazar's sake, her great thirst for knowledge  _wasn't_  as great as her ego.

Their hands brushed in Potions.

That sob of Snape had ordered Granger to swap places with Goyle when the latter had made their cauldron explode- Crabbe's tongue was still stuck to his palate.

"Sorry," she said stiffly, her hand shooting back, fairy dust spilling through her fingers.

After putting his dose of salt into the cauldron simmering between them, Draco made a show of wiping his hand on the hem of his robes. He sneered, "Probably the first and last time you touch a pure-blood, Granger."

"Ronald is a pure-blood," the girl retorted, going back to cutting her bay leaves. Her movements were methodical, precise.

With a flare of resentment, Draco noticed their potion was already the right shade of pickle green mentioned in his textbook.

Rolling his eyes, he perched himself on his stool and began crushing plum-like insects into a bowl. "He's a blood-traitor, Granger."

Risking a sideways glance, he caught her biting her tongue, her attention fixed on the bay leaves that she was fiercely turning into thin powder.

"Have something to say, Granger?" Draco asked politely.

When Granger shook her head, not lifting her gaze, he insisted, "Don't be shy, Granger, speak your mind."

Huffing, she snapped her head up. "In case no one ever told you, you're a prat."

 _Prejudiced egotistical bastard_ , her glare filled in.

"I'm not a bastard, I was born in a healthy marriage," Draco said indignantly.

Granger arched an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were illiterate."

"I'll have you know I'm well educated."  _More acculturated than you, that's for sure._

"Hardly. I'm interested in various topics, both magical and Muggles. I know a lot."

 _Salazar spare me._ Draco squeezed the insects into a mash.

"So much for an abomination, right?"

It was barely a whisper, but he still heard her. For a moment he considered firing back an insult, but one look at her lowered head, her red face hidden by a bush of curls, made him hesitate.

"You might be intelligent, that doesn't mean your efforts will pay off."

He didn't know what had made him say that. Her bright eyes were back on his face.

Not liking the way she was scrutinising him, he added, "I wouldn't care about intelligence when there's a monster hunting Mudbloods."

Unfortunately, Snape had been within earshot of this last piece of poetry. He asked him to stay behind after class, but the tears Draco saw gathering in Granger's eyes were worth it.

.

* * *

.

"Draco."

Tonight she was kneeling beside him on his four-poster, her face and hands sprinkled with fairy dust. She was wearing an accusing glare and a thin camisole.

"Pathetic."

He knew better than to answer her, or worse, acknowledge her appearance, so he kept skimming over incomprehensible words, waited three seconds, slowly turned the page, went back to pretending to read.

"Tell me what I am, Draco." Her voice was two spoonfuls of sugar stirred into a cup of hot tea drunk in the evening – in front of a bloody crackling fire. "I'm not worthy."

"Tell me I'm nothing."

He remembered slipping his hands around her throat, his fingers grazing that spot where he had felt her pulse quicken in fear.

"Say it."

He finally raised his gaze from his Potions book. "Go away."

"Stop chasing me."

"Not bloody chasing you," he jerked out.

"Say it, Draco."

He sat up, snapping his book shut. "Mudblood."

"Say. It."

Draco drew in a ragged breath when she leaned over him. She smelled like rain and sweet bay.

She blinked and her wide eyes were brimming with unshed tears. She was pretty when she cried.

"Draco. Say it."

"You're an abomination," he breathed.

A tear slid down her cheek.

"Bitter, isn't it?"

A second tear followed the first.

"Wanting what you can't have."

When Draco woke up, he was panting and dragging his legs through wet sheets.

It was Christmas.

Maybe Salazar would listen to him and command his creature to kill Hermione Granger.

.

* * *

.

"You heard? They woke up!

"Really? That's great news-"

"Lockhart is out too. Merlin, it was hilarious-"

"And Justin-"

"Is here."

"Justin! You look awful-"

"Where's Granger?"

"Um, last I saw her, she was yelling at McGonagall..."

"You sure we're talking about the same person?"

"Ah, yes, something about having to see Potter and Weasley even if Stunning the matron is the only way to get out of the Infirmary. She was a bit... upset."

"Well, at least you're alright."

.

* * *

.

"I'm s-sorry, Father."

Lucius ignored him. He shrugged off his cloak, uncaring of the dust collected from their recent travel through the Floo, and tossed it on the back of a sofa.

Draco staggered into the drawing room, tremors rolling through him, and stumbled over the edge of the Persian carpet- the geometric lines appeared to dance when his eyes kept moving frenetically, oscillating, stabbing his temples from the inside.

"F-Father, please," Draco whimpered, curling his fingers at his sides. The older man was calmly placing his wand on the table.

The boy closed his eyes. He heard his father rolling up his sleeves, the faint sound of the fabric bunching up at the elbows.

"F-Father-"

"You never do what you're told." His voice was deceptively calm. Draco forced himself to look at him. "One thing, Draco."

Lucius raised his index finger. "I asked you to do one bloody thing."

Draco swallowed, but the lump of dread remained stuck in his throat when his father unbuckled his belt, methodically slipping it through the loops of his pants.

Draco knew pleading would be futile now.

"A simple request," Lucius hissed under his breath. Somewhere in the manor, doors were slammed shut, echoes of someone's shrieks carrying down the halls. "To inform me."

Draco's heartbeat thudded in his head, his eyes not mentioning to stop moving. Meanwhile, the noise drew close, just outside the drawing room.

"But you didn't, Draco. Inform me. That Dumbledore had returned- and you  _knew_  it." There were rapping sounds at the closed door, someone calling from outside, but Draco could barely make out the voice over the relentless buzzing torturing his ears. "You knew that elf was helping him-"

"No, I didn't know-" Draco tried to protest, but the rest of his words died on his tongue when his father was immediately on him.

"Don't lie!" he bellowed in his son's face. "You spoke with that traitor, you  _knew_! And the Ravenclaw girl, the Gryffindor- the Granger girl. You incidentally forgot to add this little information, didn't you, Draco? And bloody Dumbledore is now back there! AND NOW I AM THE FOOL! AND THEY REMOVED ME FROM THE BOARD OF GOVERNORS BECAUSE YOU FAILED TO INFORM ME- YOU DECIDED TO DISOBEY MY ORDERS!"

The door was wrenched open and there were yells, there were elves, there was a hysterical voice screaming and pleading from across the room, "PLEASE, LUCIUS, DON'T! DON'T-", but Lucius had already raised his belt, and before Narcissa could reach them, a tear had already escaped Draco's eye.

Followed by another. Again- and again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While editing, I noticed the last scene of this chapter was more on the M side of ratings, not for graphic violence, which is absent, but for trigger warnings. I really wanted to write a story for everyone, though (+13 everyone, at least).
> 
> Anyway, if you think I should change the rating of this story to M, please, don't hesitate to let me know! I'm not planning to add explicit mature content, but if you think this isn't an appropriate reading for teens, feel free to tell me.
> 
> About the scene in question. I know Draco adores his father and Lucius definitely loves his family. This fact won't change here, I promise (this isn't to condone what I wrote). I think it's easy to understand why it happened, though (the violence, the very Muggle punishment instead of magic). The reason involves traditionalism and the Ministry.
> 
> The dreams. I won't lie, I love adding dreams to my stories. Dark Games' dream scenes are my favourites, but Draco's are a close second!
> 
> Aand thank you for your comments! :D


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